


Ever After

by Feynite



Category: Cinderella Phenomenon (Visual Novel)
Genre: Engagement, F/M, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 11:52:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16722828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite
Summary: Outside of fairytales, there's usually a certain amount of complexity to the marriage of a crown prince and crown princess of two different kingdoms.Unless, of course, one of you is heinously unpopular. That tends to simplify some things.(Or, a fic-form speculation on what might have happened after Karma's good ending.)





	Ever After

 

 

I am Princess Lucette Riella Britton, daughter of King Genaro Britton III, and I am getting married.

 

To Crown Prince Klaude of Brugantia.

 

And once that happens, I will no longer be the crown princess of Angielle. No longer first in line to its throne. That title will pass to my step-sister, Emelaigne.

 

That is a fate that would have once upset me enormously. Something I had feared ever since my father remarried, in fact, and made the controversial decision to name Ophelia his queen, and adopt her children as his own. Prior to my father’s second marriage, the next nearest heir to the throne was a distant cousin. A remote enough connection that there was no obvious competition, even with my… unpopularity, among the populace.

 

Emelaigne and Rod changed that. Emelaigne especially. The people of Angielle have never been in any great hurry to be ruled by the daughter of Queen Hildyr. And despite my proving myself to the residents of the Marchen, and improving some opinions through my role in thwarting Alcaster’s coupe, the truth is that most of Angielle is still intensely distrustful of me. My reputation - and Mother’s - precede me. Prior to my being cursed, my one advantage was the nobility’s general disdain for Ophelia’s common background. There was a great deal of discontentment over the king’s decision to make a widowed baker his __queen,__  and not simply his consort; but most of the staunchest detractors had sided with Sir Alcaster or Sir Mythros, and subsequently lost standing as investigations brought their treason to light.

 

Ironically… I lost support along with them.

 

The old me would have been devastated. The old me believed I had nothing, if I did not have the role my mother had long prepared me for. The throne and title and status that assured me I held some worth, even when it seemed like nothing else did.

 

I am glad I do not think that way anymore.

 

Because, in truth, this has simplified what could have been a very difficult decision, otherwise.

 

I want to marry Klaude. I want to go with him to Brugantia. It has been three years since I inherited the Crystallum Tenebrarum, and even though I have reconciled some things with my family, and learned a great deal about being a witch and managing the powers innate to my inheritance, I know I am not the queen that Angielle desires. And more than fitting the role my mother intended for me, it is my wish to be happy. Perhaps that is selfish; it is certainly not rooted in pure altruism. But I think it is for the best anyways. I am not the only one who has spent the past few years learning things. Princess Emelaigne has been taking to her own lessons on governance and etiquette with great aplomb. And since I lifted the Fairytale Curses, Prince Rod has also become increasingly popular, now that he no longer requires the quirk of having Sebby speak for him. Not that there was ever anything wrong with Sebby as interpreter, but it did make things difficult for him among the more recalcitrant and judgemental nobles.

 

The carriage ride is quiet. Klaude is brooding. He is nowhere near as prone to it as he was when he was cursed, of course, but sometimes the mood still overtakes him. Though he has assured me several times that his family will doubtless like me, and that Brugantia, having never suffered Hildyr’s rule or dealt with as many curses, is less likely to judge me on my heritage, it seems that something is still troubling him.

 

Logically, I doubt it is the prospect of taking me home with him. This will be my first trip to Brugantia, but he has invited me along before. Unfortunately, there were too many matters to deal with in Angielle for me to accept that invitation. And yet part of me still worries that, now that I __have__  accepted, he has been struck with doubts. If this visit goes well, then… we will marry. I am twenty-one, now, and Klaude is twenty-three. I love him wholeheartedly, and feel that I am ready for this.

 

But Klaude…

 

Perhaps he is not?

 

It is a question I turn over in my mind, as we watch the scenery go by the carriage windows. Or rather, I watch it, and Klaude seems to stare at his reflection without really seeing it. It is autumn. The leaves are turning, and a light rain is falling; casting soft pattering sounds across the roof of the carriage. If we follow the plan, then I will spend a few months in Brugantia, helping to make wedding preparations but also adjusting to the potential of living there permanently. So long as nothing disastrous happens, and the people accept me, then my family will make a diplomatic journey out to attend the wedding. I could also invite other guests, and I intend to; familiar faces from the Marchen, for certain. But it is a long trip, and they may not be able to make it.

 

That is nothing to dwell on. Most of our friends are in Angielle. I never would have thought that I might miss Emelaigne or Rod, or Ophelia, even. Let alone a gaggle of odd folk, drawn together only by the necessities of curing their curses. But now I have people to miss. There’s a certain irony in that - this path that has led me to realize how badly I need to leave, has also given me many reasons not to that I never had before.

 

I look at Klaude, and let myself hope that this is the source of his own melancholy, and not something… less easily dealt with.

 

“What’s wrong?” I finally ask him. I have been working on my tact, but… I am still not the best at it.

 

Klaude blinks, and sighs. He is rarely quick to snap out of a bad mood, but I can see him trying, as he seems to realize that he has been glowering at the window in the same position for long enough to get a little stiff.

 

“It’s nothing,” he says.

 

I raise an eyebrow at him. After a moment, it prompts a rueful chuckle from him.

 

“Ah, love,” he sighs. “Forgive me. I was just thinking that without you living in Angielle anymore, I won’t have much reason to come back and visit it again.”

 

I let out a breath.

 

__That’s better than some of the other possibilities._ _

 

Klaude catches the sigh, though. He gives me look of his own, obviously a little taken aback that I’d make a sound of relief at such a proclamation.

 

“What?” he prompts, shifting in his seat. “Were you worried I was getting cold feet?”

 

“Would that be strange?” I wonder. I’m surprised when it merits a solemn look from him. Of the sort that always makes my breath catch a little with its intensity. Klaude can be romantic and silly and vain, things that I should find tiresome, but somehow never really do. There are times, however, when he is very unexpectedly serious about things. It is often captivating to me, when it happens. I know he means whatever he says while wearing such an expression.

 

“It would be unthinkable,” he assures me.

 

My face heats. I let out another sigh, and then shift over so I can sit on the carriage seat next to him. It will get too hot if we stay like this for long, but he lets me lean against his side, and puts his arm around me.

 

“Not everyone gets cold feet because they do not love their partner,” I say. “Ophelia was telling me. Sometimes it is the idea of marriage itself that makes people worry.” She had meant the advice for me, I think, worrying that I might be overcome at the prospect. I tried not to read anything two-faced or subversive in her words, but it still takes me a little effort to manage that, at times.

 

Klaude tilts his head and presses a kiss to my brow.

 

“I’m not afraid of marriage,” he says. “I’m not afraid of anything that means I get to see you every day.”

 

“Not even a little?” I check.

 

“...Maybe a __little,”__  he concedes. “Not of marrying you, but of… changing things, I suppose.”

 

I’m not upset with his answer. In fact, as he admits as much, the only thing I find myself feeling is relief.

 

“Me too,” I confess.

 

Klaude leans back a little to look at me.

 

“I want to marry you,” I assure him, not for the first time. “But it __is__  a lot of change.”

 

He nods in understanding, his gaze softening as he gently runs a hand up and down my side. I rest against his shoulder again, and we both just sit together and listen to the light patter of the rain against the carriage roof. The sounds of the wheels, turning over the well-kept road. Brugantia and Angielle may have never enjoyed any sort of military alliance, but the two kingdoms have long shared several lucrative trade routes.

 

King Klemente is considered to be something of a pacifist. While most of my education for the past few years has been concerned with magic and becoming a sufficient bearer of the Tenebrarum, the __rest__  of my copious amount of study time has been spent learning about Klaude’s homeland. Klaude’s great-grandmother was the ruling queen prior to his father’s ascension to the throne. His grandfather died in his late thirties, when then-Prince Klemente was still young. But Queen Kelda was a formidable ruler, and had several heirs to choose from. During the Great War, she committed troops to the fairies’ side. However, the Battle of the Cursed Plains - where most of Brugantia’s forces were stationed - was a bloodbath. Witches were able to use the terrain to their advantage to send out waves upon waves of spells, and another nation - Moseria - had sided with witches, and committed troops to the fight. Moseria’s cavalry was small, but with the aid of the witches’ magic, they quickly turned the battle into a slaughter. Soldiers on horseback can seize advantages even without overwhelming numbers.

 

By all accounts, the tragedy left a strong impression on King Klemente, who has subsequently refused to commit troops to the cause of other nations. Brugantia’s forces protect her borders, but it is exceedingly rare to see them march on behalf of any other kingdom.

 

Politics with Angielle were strained during my mother’s rule, as well - owed, of course, to the fact that while Queen Hildyr ruled Angielle with an iron fist, Angielle sided with the witches. Another thing erased from my memory; though as soon as I realized what I was reading in the history texts I obtained, it of course made perfect sense. Queen Hildyr’s death marked the end of the Great War, and Angielle made reparations to her neighbours, and is continuing to do so. Fortunately, though, King Klemente’s withdrawal from most battlefields meant that mother never considered conquering Brugantia a pressing matter. While political tensions between Brugantia and Moseria remain high, matters between it and Angielle are neutral-to-pleasant.

 

And Klaude has assured me that his father’s negative opinions are mainly for the matter of war itself, and not __particularly__  for witches.

 

Brugantia even permits witches into its court, and had allied witches on the field, during the Battle of the Cursed Plains. Apparently, Queen Kelda’s third husband was a witch as well, although they did not produce any half-witch heirs before said husband’s untimely demise. Death seems to haunt Klaude’s family to a worrying degree. His mother nearly died giving birth to his brother, and his father ostensibly suffered many childhood ailments, though neither Klaude nor Lucas seem to share in those particular woes.

 

After a few minutes, our cuddling becomes too cramped. I make my way back over to the other side of the carriage. I never would have guessed it of myself, but as it happens, I quite like the warmth of human contact. Especially with Klaude.

 

Who seems a little bit brighter, as I settle across from him again.

 

“Are __you__  nervous?” he wonders.

 

“You asked me that before,” I remind him.

 

“And you avoided answering me,” he counters.

 

I sigh, and turn my own gaze out the window again. The carriage curtains sway, and the rain drops trail in little patterns across the glass.

 

“It is a big change,” I say again.

 

My hands are folded into my lap. After a moment, Klaude reaches over, and settles one of his own atop them. He gives them a squeeze, and gives me a reassuring look.

 

“If you have doubts, or reservations, or if it turns out you hate everything and wish to go home - tell me,” he asks. “We can always figure something else out. It need not be only this arrangement or nothing else.”

 

“If such a thing happens, I’ll tell you,” I promise.

 

Then I sigh, and want to kiss him. But I have only just moved back to my side of the carriage, and it seems a little silly to lean all the way back over again. So I turn my hands and squeeze Klaude’s, instead. Feeling the warmth linger even after he sits back against his seat, and reclaims his fingers for himself.

 

He smiles at me.

 

“I hope you will like Brugantia, though,” he tells me. “There are so many places I am looking forward to showing you. Angielle’s markets are pleasant but they are much smaller than the ones in my homeland. And the festivals! The balls! Oh, I __missed__  the masquerades most of all. We have them once yearly, at the end of autumn, provided the kingdom’s finances are healthy enough to permit it. Dancing and feasting and costumes abound! And there is the Fool’s Parade as well, it’s an old tradition where the palace gates are thrown wide, and everyone dresses up in a manner different from their usual guise. Nobles donate old attire so that beggars can dress like kings. Old maids might dress like little girls, men might dress like women, shopkeepers might dress as soldiers, archivists might fashion themselves as farmers - and there is a great parade, and a massive feast where the poorest people in the city are given the grandest and most elaborately prepared tables…”

 

I listen to Klaude enthuse about the celebrations of Brugantia. I am actually familiar with the basic premise of many of them - it’s the sort of thing one wants to know about, especially given that many of my future duties may include hosting and preparing for events - but it is a very different experience to hear Klaude describe them, than to simply read a dry description of them. I admit, some of it sounded very silly to me. Beggars dressed as kings? What for? But the delight in Klaude’s expression wins me over.

 

It is probably quite nice, to live in someone else’s shoes for a little while. Especially when it is not frightening or unexpected to have to try.

 

I muse on the appeal, until the conversation dwindles down again. My mind turns towards Klaude’s earlier admission, about worrying over not having as many reasons to go back to Angielle, once I’m living in Brugantia with him. I make a point to mention that I __do__  intend to go back and visit my family, and will probably take him with me, unless something hinders that. Our engagement has definitely changed the nature of the political alliances between our kingdoms. If the situation had been closer to begin with, and if I was more popular in Angielle, we might even have been able to unite both under joint rule. But that likely would have made the other neighbouring kingdoms nervous - and is not possible for the other reasons, besides.

 

Still, if all goes according to plan, the royal families of Brugantia and Angielle will be more closely tied than they have been in centuries. While some of our noble houses have intermingled over the years, it has been a long while since anyone in direct line for either throne married into the neighbouring kingdom. As Klaude relaxes, and eventually begins to doze, I retrieve one of the reference books I brought from under my seat, and try to refresh my knowledge on Brugantia’s noble houses.

 

It has been strange, to realize how unprepared my parents left me for the actual role of Crown Princess, despite their supposed efforts to that end. As things have come to light, I have realized the costly nature of Mother’s disposal of the royal libraries, and her disdain for the human noble houses. Part of my unpopularity is owed to the fact that, put bluntly, I was raised to be obedient to the queen; not to establish my own alliances or build connections with my future retainers. And despite King Genaro’s popularity among the commonfolk, I think it is safe to say that his ability to appoint suitable advisors or assess the motives of his own court are… somewhat lacking.

 

I grew up in Angielle my entire life and only recently began to understand its people. I cannot help but think that Brugantia is going to be even more difficult, by comparison. Even if my reputation carries less stigma there, doubtless there will still be __some.__  And the Brugantian courts are a complicated place. Mother’s rule was brutal, and she did not endure many traditions she saw as needless, or hesitate to dispose of people who inconvenienced her. As a result, Angielle’s ruling families are actually a relatively small pool of people, still recovering from the losses of many heads of households, and heirs. But even before that, my grandfather’s tacit approval of the Witch Hunt changed Angielle more than I ever would have guessed.

 

My grandfather - King Genaro’s father - never denounced the fairytales or decried the Witch Hunt. At the time when the first signs of unease began, Angielle’s noble houses actually included __several__  witch families. I was shocked to find them, to trace back family trees and long genealogies that interwove with other houses, and the royal bloodline. My great-great-great-grandmother was a witch, on my father’s side. Apparently, half-witches tend to have magical children only if they marry full-blooded witches, or other half-witches. A half-witch who has children with a human will likely have human children.

 

I asked Delora and Parfait what that might mean for the Tenebrarum, if Klaude and I should have purely human children waiting in our future. They weren’t certain themselves, but Delora has started investigating my mother’s lineage, to find out who would likely inherit the Tenebrarum in the event of my death. Much like a crown, the crystals do seem to pass to the closest living relative of applicable standing, if their bearers die without heirs.

 

But it’s possible that none of my mother’s kin, apart from myself, are still alive. I… have been trying not to think of the implications of all of that. It’s getting ahead of things, at any rate. There is enough for Klaude and I to handle already with getting married. Children and heirs might be an inevitability for people of our stations, but they’re still some ways off yet.

 

It’s difficult to really pay attention to the names and notations in the book on Brugantian nobility, though. Klaude brought it for me, and it’s been very helpful, but it’s hard to get the information to stick when I have no real frame of reference for the names involved. There are simplistic descriptions of nobles both dead and alive - hair colour, eye colour, skin tone and some little details like ‘possessed of a cleft chin’ or ‘with a birthmark most noteworthy upon her left brow’, but the book contains no portraits. There are maps, though, of the territories ruled by various families, and notes on some border changes, up to five years ago., when the book was compiled Klaude even made some notes for me on what happened in the intervening years, as well, though it doesn’t seem to have been very much. A small county in the northern part of the kingdom was awarded to a different noble family after its original lord was found to be taking bribes from Moserian merchants, and successfully tried for it. A few of the notable houses welcomed new heirs to their ranks. I read the names but, they are of course quite long, and don’t hold much meaning for me.

 

Eventually, the rocking of the carriage makes it too much of a strain to keep trying to read the book in my lap. I feel the telltale twinge of an oncoming headache, so I stow it away again, and notice that the rain outside the carriage has stopped. After a moment’s thought, I signal the driver that I’d like to step out. I need some fresh air.

 

I leave Klaude still napping, and step down to walk alongside the procession for a bit.

 

We are not traveling to Brugantia alone, of course. If King Genaro had simply sent his eldest daughter to a foreign nation without an escort, the implications would have torn what reputation I have to shreds. As it stands, my wedding party is smaller than average for most people of my station. There are a few nobles accompanying is; ostensibly my ladies-in-waiting and a few of their relatives, but truly, most of them are only there to investigate possible alliances of their own among the Brugantian nobility. Several guards have been assigned to us, and servants as well of course. Whether they will stay on with my in Brugantia, or return to Angielle, will ultimately be their decisions to make. I can’t say I anticipate that many of them will stay, but Garlan and Jurien are among the guards personally assigned to me. And I think they might keep on with us, now that the Marchen no longer requires their protection. Despite Sir Alcaster’s treachery, and their restoration to the Order of Caldira, there have been some lingering tensions between them and their fellow knights in Angielle.

 

The pair fall back when they see me. Today, I don’t mind. It’s pleasant to walk in their company, and the little voice in my head that still sometimes wonders why anyone would __want__  to walk with me, is quiet.

 

Besides. Walking with Garlan and Jurien makes me less keenly aware of the absence of my former bodyguard. I am leaving Fritz’s grave behind in Angielle, to rest among the most decorated knights of the kingdom. Emelaigne has promised she will tend to it, and ensure that no more vandals attempt to desecrate the resting place of Sir Alcaster’s son.

 

“Is Karma playing Sleeping Beauty, or is his highness actually napping?” Garlan asks, glancing in towards the carriage.

 

“I might have let him do all the talking for more than an hour or so,” I say. “Let him rest.”

 

“As if talking ever bothers him,” Jurien quips, as she falls into step alongside me. I incline my head, knowing now that such a comment doesn’t mean she intends to wake Klaude up, and then take a deep breath. Tasting rain on the air, feeling more clear-headed for the open space and the slick crunch of leaves beneath my boots.

 

Eventually, my gaze wanders to the wedding band on Garlan’s hand. Jurien wears hers all the time too, I know, but it’s currently under her gloves. The flash of gold brings my gaze to my own hand, and the engagement ring on it.

 

I brush my thumb against the pale, delicate metal. The stone on top is carved to look like the petals of a lily. Klaude had gone onto one knee to present it to me, looking perfectly princely, with a tremor of nervousness lingering just so subtly in the curl of his fingers around the velvet box. He couldn’t have thought that I would reject him, and yet… he was afraid of it anyway. And I understood. That was even more amazing, perhaps - I would have been afraid, too, even with all my trust in Klaude, all the reassurances I have that he loves me, the certainty in my own love for him.

 

I almost accepted before he even opened the box. But then he had, and my voice had stuck in my throat as I saw the ring. So, naturally, I made a silly fool of myself by crying instead, and taking __far__  too long to actually get my acceptance out. I’m not sure who kissed who first, but I don’t think I’ve ever been left so breathless in my life. And Klaude spun me in his arms, afterwards, laughing so brightly, his own eyes shining…

 

“You’re doing it again,” Garlan informs me.

 

I snap my gaze back up ahead, and stop staring at my ring. I can feel the heat in my face, and school my mouth out of its undoubtedly ridiculous smile, and back into something more neutral.

 

“Lan,” Jurien tsk’s. “It’s cute, stop interrupting her.”

 

“I didn’t tell her to __stop,__ I think it’s cute, too! I just don’t want her to walk into another tree…”

 

I clear my throat, and very pointedly focus on the road ahead.

 

That was __one__  time.

 

I fiddle with my engagement ring, but stop myself from looking at it and getting lost in my own thoughts again.

 

 

~

 

 

It’s a long trip, to reach the capital city of Brugantia, and the royal palace.

 

We make several stops along the way, of course. Some of the nobility in Angielle host us, and once we cross the border, it is the same in Brugantia as well. Klaude makes proper introductions, and most of our hosts are exceptionally gracious, even if they always seem to have more questions than I know how to answer. My ‘forthrightness’, as Klaude would call it, doesn’t seem to go over as poorly in Brugantia as it did in Angielle, at least. Often the older nobles seem to stick to more ‘standard’ topics of conversation; asking about the engagement and discussing politics.

 

But among the younger set, closer to our own ages or below that, the most frequent subject of interest is the Tenebrarum. Usually, it’s the children who ask to see it. I simply tell them that the crystal is securely hidden away; it’s simpler than trying to explain that it is floating in a nearby pocket dimension, tethered to my magical core and occupying a space beyond normal human perception until I summon it forth.

 

Honestly even I am still somewhat sketchy on how that part of things works. I think Parfait herself has never fully understood it, considering how badly she explains it.

 

I don’t really find myself hesitating, though, until we reach Brugantia’s capital. Where Angielle’s capital city is named for the kingdom, Brugantia’s is called ‘Riverstone’.

 

It is __massive.__

 

The city walls look old. The river it is named for is wide, and clearly polluted by the presence of such a bustling populace. The forests around it are green and orange with the turning of the leaves, and there is a massive stone bridge that fords the river, that I can see even from the carriage. Down river, I know, there is a port city, where large ships deliver goods to the kingdom; smaller vessels ferry such things up the river, and I can see them moving across the waters, passing beneath the shadow of the bridge. The palace is somewhat removed from the city itself. Where Angielle’s palace sat securely in its heart, Brugantia’s looks almost like a small village separate of the vast sprawl of its populace.

 

I knew that Brugantia’s cities were bigger, but some part of me had still thought of the kingdom as ‘smaller’. It is a more concentrated territory, in fact. Less land, but what is here is more verdant, so where Angielle has vast stretches of open farmland, with only a few small villages between fields full of livestock and crops, Brugantia has lakes and rivers and forests, verdant wilds, and big cities situated at the major ports of trade.

 

More people in a smaller space, in other words.

 

I had known that intellectually, but the reality of Riverstone suddenly makes me feel oddly… rural.

 

I blink back the thought as Klaude leans out of the window with me, and begins to point out landmarks.

 

“That’s the Stone Bridge,” he tells me. “It’s one of the oldest structures in Brugantia, though it needs repairs nearly every year. There’s a toll to help pay the costs, though it’s not a terribly popular expense. And those rooftops, there, are all around the main market square. It should probably smell like fish today, those are fishing boats in the river, and it looks like they’ve emptied their hauls. The palace is there, we’re going to just pass through the city for now. But if you want, we can wave at people, they usually like that… or if you’d prefer you can sit back, and I will wave. It wouldn’t present a bad image at this point, people like a certain air of mystery…”

 

“I think I can manage waving,” I assure him. I’ve been working on such things, after all. Accompanying my father on his rides through Angielle, and trying to present a less… aloof, demeanour.

 

Looking less the part of an evil queen in the making.

 

Klaude smiles at me.

 

“Alright, then,” he says. “You take the left, I’ll take the right.”

 

We ride through the city, and sure enough, small crowds seem to have gathered alongside the streets to watch the procession. I open the window to the left; Jurien is riding alongside our carriage, keeping one eye on the crowd. She nods to me, and I nod back, before I carefully turn my attention towards the throngs of unfamiliar commonfolk. Brugantians seem to dress brightly, by and large; though Klaude remains exceptionally colourful, I think. I raise my hand and offer a royal wave, and see children and even adults straining to see inside the shadows of the carriage. Klaude leans out more; I tell by listening, rather than seeing him do it, because on the other street I can hear people exclaiming that it’s the prince.

 

I wonder if I should do the same…?

 

But the people here don’t know my face. Not yet, anyway. And perhaps it would seem strange, to have some unfamiliar woman leaning out so obviously? I decide to keep with my current plan.

 

“You’re doing fine,” Jurien assures me.

 

I sigh, inwardly, that it’s apparently still obvious how uncomfortable I can be with these things. I feel a familiar kernel of frustration. I was the one born to the role, but somehow, it still strikes me that Emelaigne was eminently more suited to being a princess.

 

After a moment, I push the frustration aside. It does no one any good, and there is something just a little bit ridiculous about comparing myself to a step-sister who is not even __here.__

 

I keep waving, until the carriages reach the bridge, and then Klaude and I shut the windows again.

 

“The river stinks,” I note.

 

He laughs.

 

I feel my cheeks heat.

 

“I should probably be more diplomatic about that, shouldn’t I?” I guess.

 

“Oh, no,” he assures me, to the contrary. He looks amused. “Complaining about the stink off of the river is a traditional Brugantian pastime. Keep doing it, and you’ll fit right in. The only thing I can recommend is more creativity in your criticisms. We’ve all heard - and mentioned - the issue at length by now, so a little inventiveness with it helps to keep it fresh.”

 

I wonder if he’s teasing me. But he seems to be in earnest, even if he’s amused. After a moment, I nod in understanding.

 

“Don’t worry,” he tells me. “I doubt anything you say will be more embarrassing than some of the things my brother and I have actually __done.”__

 

“Like getting cursed?” I wonder.

 

Klaude shakes his head.

 

“Ha!” he says. “Not even, I fear. At least my being cursed could just be attributed to the malice of a witch. Worries about my disappearance aside, I think my parents were more __embarrassed__  when I got drunk for the first time and… um… actually, perhaps I won’t share that story.”

 

I raise my eyebrows.

 

“Oh?”

 

“It’s not important,” he assures me, with a dismissive wave of his hand, and some definite colour to his cheeks.

 

“You know I __am__  going to meet your family,” I say. “And based on what you’ve told me, if I ask your brother, he’ll probably tell me the story anyway. With glee.”

 

Klaude clears his throat, and opens his mouth. Then he closes it again, and then sighs.

 

“...Damn,” he says. “Alright, then. The first time I got drunk, I was fifteen. I snuck some of my father’s very expensive imported wines out of his study, after he neglected to lock the case for it, and drank all of it in the stable loft. It made me feel very hot, and so I must have decided to resolve that issue by doing away with my clothes. And then I think I decided I want to go for a ride. Needless to say, three hours later some of the castle guard managed to pluck me out of the fountain in the central market square, much to the amusement of the many, __many__  townsfolk who were gathered there to go about their usual morning business.”

 

I blink.

 

Klaude clears his throat again, and straightens his collar.

 

“So to be clear, you got entirely drunk, rode a horse naked through the city, and decided to… bathe, in the fountain?”

 

“The events are a bit fuzzy in my recollections,” he tells me. “And there are some accounts of other incidents along the way, but those are unverified, even if my brother is the one who tries to mention them. He wasn’t actually there, he’s just repeating baseless rumours. Especially if he mentions anything to do with a laundry line or a tea cozy.”

 

I laugh.

 

Klaude’s own expression slips into something a little more cheerful, too, as he looks at me as if my laughing at the story somehow makes up for having to tell it.

 

“Well now I __have__  to ask him, don’t I?” I tease.

 

He groans.

 

“I should never have mentioned it.”

 

“And that is only one incident, isn’t it? There are others, aren’t there?”

 

“Lucette, take mercy on me. Some of us have far more dire marks on our intrepid youths than being stand-offish and collecting dolls,” he pleads.

 

“I did worse things than that,” I protest. “I got servants fired for making minor mistakes, too.”

 

“Three,” he tells me.

 

“What?” I ask.

 

“You got __three__  servants fired, over the course of four years. It was such a major point of your reputation that I asked about it,” he tells me. “Including Annice, you also fired a maid who was stealing objects from the castle after you caught her taking one of your dolls, and a stablehand who you overheard calling you something that __I__  would have fired him for, too.”

 

I frown, thinking back as my brow furrows. Surely it was more than that? Although… well, perhaps I only __tried__  to get more servants than that fired. It would be like my father to just relocate people to other jobs instead.

 

“Three wouldn’t have been enough to build up a reputation for it,” I point out.

 

Klaude, to my surprise, just shrugs.

 

“You would be surprised,” he tells me. “No doubt, my love, some of the people you attempted to have removed were like Annice, and didn’t really deserve it. But rumours are often creatures of opportunity. I imagine many a servant fired for neglect or theft or any other number of transgressions might find himself telling his family it was the doing of the notoriously cold-hearted daughter of Queen Hildyr, who has servants flung out of the castle for the most minor of infractions. That is much easier to tell a new prospective employer, or disappointed spouse, than the truth.”

 

I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

 

“That sounds like the sort of thing my mother would say,” I admit. “People just being two-faced…”

 

Klaude sighs.

 

“Well, sometimes they __are,”__  he says. “Not to imply that you shouldn’t keep your renewed faith in humanity. But it… well. It wouldn’t precisely be fair to let you walk into the politics of Brugantia thinking that it’s unreasonable to be wary or suspicious, at times. Your mother’s lessons certainly took things much too far, however, King Genaro trusted Sir Alcaster and Sir Mythros completely, and both were conspiring against him in the end. Brugantia’s court is rife with its own spies and liars and self-serving ambitions.”

 

I take in his serious expression, and give him a steady look of my own.

 

“I know, Klaude,” I say. “I may have turned over a new leaf, but I don’t think everyone in any court is as sweet as a summer blossom.” In truth, I think it would take a lot to entirely uproot everything I have been taught about suspecting others of lies and ill-deeds.

 

Though it is more than a little surprising to have anyone imply that I was not every inch as heinous as could be, back before Delora cursed me.

 

Some tension eases out of Klaude’s shoulders, at my response.

 

“Of course,” he says.

 

But something about him still seems worried.

 

“What?” I wonder, as we begin to make our way off the bridge.

 

“Nothing,” he says. “Just… it suddenly struck me that if you were to trust someone in Brugantia’s court, and they betrayed that trust, I… would probably draw my blade on them. Father would not approve. Brugantia has a dueling tradition, but he prefers to see disputes settled more __decorously.”__

 

I don’t know if I’m warmed by Klaude’s protectiveness, or somewhat exasperated with it. Perhaps both. And maybe a little insulted that he thinks I would be inept at spotting suspicious people.

 

Though… I never did suspect Mother.

 

Delora has a word for what she did to me. Grooming, she called it. I was under the impression that parents were __supposed__  to groom their children for the roles intended for them, but mother’s take on that was exceptionally controlling. Especially since it included memory wipes and isolation. Delora and I argued, somewhat, when she tried to broach the topic. I still don’t like hearing about my mother’s… well. I still don’t like hearing about it, even though I know it’s all true.

 

One thing she told me was that people who have been… treated, that way, the way that my mother treated me, tend to be susceptible to getting treated that way again. I didn’t like the implications of that. I still don’t. And Klaude’s worry reminds me of it, too.

 

__I’m not some fragile damsel who needs to be protected from manipulative people._ _

 

“Did you talk to Delora, before we left?” I ask him.

 

Klaude blinks.

 

“I wished her farewell…?”

 

I look at him.

 

After a moment, he sighs, and relents.

 

“She may have mentioned some concerns of hers to me, about your treatment in Brugantia’s court. But she wasn’t trying to criticize you, love. Neither am I.”

 

“I know how to handle myself.”

 

“I know you do,” he assures me, resolutely. “It’s just easy to worry. Don’t you worry about how everyone is going to fare back in Angielle, too?”

 

I consider the question.

 

“...Perhaps,” I concede.

 

We head onto a road called The Palace Road, then, and find more crowds waiting for us on the streets. The conversation tapers off, as we decide to resume our waving for a few minutes instead. I’m too distracted by my thoughts to overthink the gesture, until our carriage finally reaches a set of elegantly carved gates. And then we pass through, and find the palace reception waiting for us.

 

A moment of truth, I suppose. I disembark from the carriage, and prepare to meet yet another fork in the road of fate.


End file.
